Are mystery writers allowed to be happy?

I was interviewing an author for the Secret Library today, and she reported a strange new development she was facing: her life has improved immeasurably since she started working on her gritty thriller series, and it’s getting in the way of writing it.

This conundrum isn’t new. I remember reading an article back in the day where someone hoped that Trent Reznor would get his heart stomped on again so we could get another album from Nine Inch Nails.

The myth of the tortured artist is there for a reason: making art can be incredibly healing when you’re in a painful place.

But if you start out using art as a comfort, how do you keep going once things are looking up?